Jesus of Suburbia
by fulgurainsomnis
Summary: Freshly graduated with no accomplishments, Axel is a wayward soul with idealistic views. His mom thinks he's a waste of space, and he's got little more than a nicotine and alcohol addiction to his name. All he wants is to get away from the shitty memories. Roxas is a high school junior with good grades, good friends, and a good home life. All he wants is to see the world. AkuRoku
1. None of the Above

I'm pretty excited about this fic. It's proving to be really fun to write already, so I'm getting pretty fueled up to write more. AkuRoku songfic based on "Jesus of Suburbia" off of Green Day's "American Idiot" album. May take some inspiration from the "American Idiot" Broadway musical as well. There will be some switching between perspectives, mainly Axel and Roxas but this may include other characters.

Please let me know what you think!

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 **None of the Above**

* * *

" _I'm the son of rage and love_

 _The Jesus of Suburbia_

 _The bible of none of the above_

 _On a steady diet of_

 _Soda Pop and Ritalin_

 _No one ever died for my_

 _Sins in hell_

 _As far as I can tell_

 _At least the ones that I got away with_

 _And there's nothing wrong with me_

 _This is how I'm supposed to be_

 _In a land of make believe_

 _That don't believe in me."_

* * *

A load of fucking shitheads, the lot of them. No matter what the fuck I did, it was _always fucking wrong._ But why the hell would anything be right? I'm just a bastard child with shit aspirations and shit luck. Even though I really did have valid points, even though I was smarter than them…did any of that matter?

Of course not. Nothing mattered in this shithole. But go fucking figure.

"Axel! Get your ass down here!"

And once again _I'm_ the problem.

I roll my eyes as I yank myself off my bed and uncaringly plodded down the stairs, laying eyes on the bitch in chief herself, also known as my mother.

She glared at me like I was the scum of the earth, because of course everything was my fucking fault. God, she was so _full_ of herself.

"What the hell is this?" she asked in that reprimanding parenting tone.

I looked over at the sink she was angry at, filled to the brim with dirty dishes and rotting food scraps. I scoffed.

"You blind? It's a sink."

"You know what I mean, you little smart ass!"

I looked her in the eyes. "It's not my problem, that's what it is. I don't eat in this house, there's no need for me to clean up after you."

I ambled out the door, ignoring my mother's curses and other oh-so-eloquent slurs. I needed some goddamn space.

I went with my go to chill out spot: the public bathroom at the old neighborhood playground. No one went there with their kids anymore thanks to parenting via iPads, so I knew I could be alone. I went inside and leaned on the wall, pulled out a cigarette from my pack and my lighter and lit it up, taking a long drag from it. I knew they'd kill me, but I'd probably kill myself quicker without them, so it was worth it.

The more I thought about my mother's logic, the less sense it made. Who did she think she was? Going around making demands when I didn't do shit to her. I didn't ask to be brought into this world, and she didn't abort my ass, so she can't complain.

That's all everyone seems to do lately. Everyone's got an opinion and society says everyone's entitled to them. So all people do is keep complaining about how their opinion is right and how society needs to change. Bunch of noise and bullshit. Since everyone's entitled to an opinion, here's mine: everyone should just suck it up and deal with it.

I sighed, my cigarette all too quickly burned down to the butt. That seemed to happen a lot. I take one puff, then I'm lost in my head that never seems to shut up until I'm out of nicotine to inhale.

I gazed lazily around the grungy bathroom, reading but not really registering the long-forgotten graffiti left on the stalls. Most of it was pointless, a lot of doodles of inappropriate and stupid shit, some people declaring they were there at one point or another, and some sarcastic comments on either of those.

One bit in particular actually caught my attention. It was stupid, it was just some crap written in someone's chicken scratch handwriting. But for whatever reason…

"'To live and not to breathe is to die in tragedy', huh?" I read uninterestedly. "Someone thinks they're a fucking poet."

I hated people like that. That's another thing: everyone tries to be a philosopher nowadays. Leave that crap to people with a fucking degree. They're pretentious, but at least they know what they're talking about. Or at least as much as someone can know about that kind of shit.

I shook my head; when the hell did I get so preachy?

My phone vibrated in my back pocket, knocking me out of my little inner rant session. I pulled it out to find a text from some chick I hooked up with a few months ago. How she got my number I'll never know. I read through the text several times, knowing it was clearly just a pathetic excuse to meet up so she could try and get me in bed again.

This is what my life had turned into: I'd come home from my part-time gig at some retail hellhole and try and chill out, my mother would yell and flip out, I'd leave to go smoke, and someone would contact me to hook up. I was that acquaintance you kept around for a party and a quick fuck, but that was about it. Any worthwhile part of my personality had been completely destroyed at that point, I was pretty sure. Whether it was because my brain cells drowned in alcohol or my emotions gave up from constantly being abused, something broke whatever I used to be. But then again, what else was new?

Deciding I could stand to blow off some steam and not think for a few hours, I dialed what's-her-face and set up a meeting outside some café she wouldn't shut up about. I put my phone back in my pocket and sighed, kicking off the wall and walking past the rusted door frame.

* * *

I couldn't seem to shake off this negative feeling that had been following me around. I mean, sure, I usually felt a little paranoid, probably no thanks to Demyx always coming over and smoking weed in my room. I'd gotten second hand high quite a few times, and I didn't deal with it too well.

But this felt different. It seemed more like premonition or something. But I guess I should leave speculation as that.

"Roxas? Roxas? Dude, you listening?"

I looked up at Demyx, once again getting high on my bed. I was probably messed up too by the amount of smoke in the room. I set my textbook back on my desk, deeming it pretty useless at this point.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention," I apologized.

He sighed. "Honestly, man…you've been thinking waaaaay too much."

"I can't help it. Especially when you're hot boxing my room."

Demyx grinned at me. "You secretly like it."

I shook my head, laughing a little. "Yeah, 'cause I like you killing my brain cells."

He laughed in his usual loud and boisterous way, flopping back on my bed. He took one last drag of his blunt before putting it out in his ashtray that seemed to be a constant companion. At least he only smoked weed and not anything worse.

"So, what were you trying to tell me, Dem?"

"Oh, right! You should skip class tomorrow with me."

I frowned a little. "I've got a paper due."

"So?"

I let out a long exhale. "What did you have in mind?"

Demyx perked up, knowing he had me right where he wanted me. God, I was too much of a pushover…

"I was thinking we could take an early vacation and go on a little road trip."

I reflexively looked away to try and hide my enthusiasm at the possibility. Unlike my brother who'd travelled around a lot for swimming competitions, I had barely been out of my hometown in my 16 years of life, so I was ready to jump at any opportunity to explore. And Demyx was clearly dangling that in front of me like catnip in front of a kitten.

"Where to?" I asked, trying to feign disinterest.

"I was thinking San Francisco."

I had to use all my self-control to keep from showing my excitement. Living in Phoenix, Arizona, I was just close enough and far enough from the West Coast for it to be torture. I'd only been to San Diego once for a week during summer vacation, and I was dying to go back.

"Come on, you know you wanna," Demyx tempted. "Good food, cute girls, hot guys… _the beach_ …"

And there it was: my ultimate weakness. I was too obsessed with the beach. Even if I wasn't allowed to swim, just the thought of lying in the sand with the sound of the waves crashing in the background sounded like the closest thing to perfection I could imagine.

"Roxas?"

I laughed a little, knowing I had been defeated.

"Alright, alright, you got me. Let's go."


	2. The Same

**Chapter 2**

 **The Same**

* * *

" _At the center of the earth_

 _In the parking lot_

 _Of the 7-Eleven where I was taught_

 _The motto was just a lie_

 _It says home is where your heart is_

 _But what a shame_

 _Cause everyone's heart_

 _Doesn't beat the same_

 _It's beating out of time."_

* * *

I stood up and stretched, feeling several areas in my back crack, wanting much needed release. After 12 straight hours of driving, everything was feeling pretty tight and sore. I looked over at Demyx, who was loudly complaining about the cramp in his leg from pressing on the gas for so long.

"Man…hey, Roxas, I'm gonna go check into our hotel, okay? Mind running across the street and getting some snacks?"

"Sure thing."

I wandered slowly over to the crosswalk, trying to regain control over my sore muscles. Sitting for so long was surprisingly difficult. My legs fell asleep and my butt even went numb, which Demyx couldn't stop laughing at for like 15 minutes.

After waiting forever for the crossing light to tell me it was safe to go, I walked across the street to one of the many nearby convenience stores. I had no idea what Demyx wanted, so I grabbed basically every junky thing I could find. The guy ate like a pig, honestly. I snagged a couple of sodas and some gum, and checked out.

I lugged my 5 bags of crap out into the parking lot, when suddenly I was shoved to the ground. Everything spilled out everywhere, and I was not very happy to say the least. I glared up at whoever knocked me over, seeing some gothed-out chick standing over a punk dude. She had clearly pushed him down, and he must've gotten shoved into me.

I was going to say something, but the guy suddenly punched her in the face. I just kind of stared as she cussed him out and tried to scratch at him with her claw-like nails. He easily pushed her away and she fell on her ass. Seemingly done with trying whatever it was she was trying, she got up and stormed off, throwing insults behind her until she was out of earshot.

The punk guy turned to me, holding out a hand. "Sorry about that bitch."

I looked up at him, really noticing him for the first time. The first thing that I saw was acidic green eyes, outlined in charcoal black eyeliner. There was no way those could be real. Then again, people thought the same thing about my eyes. He had purplish tattoos underneath them, resembling teardrops in a weird way. His hair was insane, long, spiked back, and flaming red. It almost looked like his whole head was on fire.

"Hello? Earth to blondie?"

After realizing I'd been staring, my cheeks flushed a bit. I took his hand, brushing off my jeans as I stood up.

"It's fine…what was that all about?"

"Bitch is fucking _insane_ ," he said with a sigh. "She thinks we're dating or some shit. Clearly doesn't know what a hookup is."

"I…see."

 _This guy is…kind of a jerk…_ I thought.

"Anyway, you okay?" he asked, looking me over. "She pushed me pretty hard, and you're a fragile little thing."

I frowned. "I'm just fine, thank you. My stuff, though…"

I looked down at the snacks, sprawled out across the parking lot and most of the bags open. I sighed, knowing I'd have to rebuy quite a few things. I started gathering up the salvageable items reluctantly.

"She just fucks everything up, huh?" The guy shook his head. "No sweat, here."

He handed me a couple of bills, reimbursing me a bit.

"You don't need to do that…"

"It's fine. You don't look like you're from this shithole, so I don't want to ruin your day with stupid shit you don't need to care about."

Without another word he started walking away. I was almost upset to see him leave, even though I didn't know the guy and he was pretty weird even just from that small interaction. Pushing it out of my thoughts, I went back inside the store and rebought all the snacks, heading back to the hotel where an impatient Demyx was waiting inside the lobby.

" _Dude,_ what took so long?"

"Sorry. Some girl knocked me over and ruined the stuff I bought originally," I explained.

"Seriously? Man, that sucks."

I shrugged. "It's whatever. Are we all checked in?"

"Yep!"

"Awesome, let's just go up to our room for now. I need a nap."

* * *

I stared at the blond kid from my hiding spot behind the dumpster. He was a little too clean-cut for my tastes, but he was still cute. He'd probably look even better with some piercings and a tattoo or something. But the way he looked all innocent was honestly way too refreshing.

 _Who knew that bitch would help me meet someone worthwhile?_ I thought.

Then again, it's not like I'd see him ever again, so I don't know why I'd think about that. Well, maybe I'd be able to have some fun with him before he left.

"Yeah _right,_ " I muttered.

I watched as the kid walked up to another blond dude. I figured they were probably just friends, but…I don't know too many guys who are just friends who come up to San Francisco together.

The blare of my obnoxiously loud ringtone startled me from my spying. Fuck, I forgot to put it on vibrate again. Angrily, I picked it up and yelled into the receiver.

"What?!"

" _Damn, Ax, chill. The fuck's got you so uptight?"_

That voice. I sighed.

"What do you want, Marluxia?"

" _Can't a friend just call to see how you are?"_ Marluxia asked, feigning hurt.

"We're not friends."

" _Harsh, Ax."_

Well, it wasn't a lie. Marluxia and I knew each other since we were kids, but even back then we weren't all buddy-buddy. We bullied each other for years before finally forming some sort of rough truce in junior high. Since then, we've just kind of…known each other, more or less. A lot of the time, we'd end up at each other's houses after a party and just sober up together or sometimes hook up.

Basically, I had no idea what our relationship was. Not friends, not lovers, not even friends with benefits really. Probably just two victims of society: fucked-up kids.

" _Anyway, I wanted to hang out."_

…Well this was new.

"Hang out, huh? Since when was that something we did?"

" _Since never, but let's fucking do it. Come on, you've gotta be bored out of your mind. At least come over to my place so I'm not smoking alone."_

I snorted. "Really? What are you, 15?"

" _I'm 20 and having fun with my life, that's what I am. Are you coming or not?"_

"Ugh, fine. Just so your ass doesn't get paranoid and crawl through my window again."

" _One fucking time! Just get your ass here!"_

 _Click._

I sighed and stuffed my phone into my back pocket. I really didn't feel like getting high with Marluxia again, but whatever.

 _What about with the cute kid?_ something in the back of my head thought.

I shook the idea from my mind and went to keep the pothead happy.

* * *

Marluxia's room has always been a fucking disaster. I mean, mine was too, but _shit._

What little of the floor was visible was completely covered in stains. Most of the floor was covered up with clothes, dirty and clean, and half-full takeout containers. It was a miracle that the damn place wasn't infested with ants and roaches. All the surfaces were cluttered with papers and pencils, gardening supplies, or actual plants. Most notably about 3 pot plants. The guy was obsessed with the shit.

Marluxia himself was sprawled out across his bed, a joint held loosely in his hand that hung off the bed lazily. He stared up at the ceiling with a look of blank contentment. He'd probably only just started smoking. I sat next to him and he looked over with a nonchalant grin.

"Hey, 'sup?"

"Don't act like you don't know, moron."

He held his joint out to me. "Wanna hit?"

I sighed and unenthusiastically accepted, knowing I'd probably get a little high off the damn smoke anyway. I didn't really do drugs that much, but when I did it was usually with Marluxia. He made it somewhat interesting to be high, at least.

I took a drag, feeling the smoke fill up my lungs. Different from nicotine, but cancerous all the same.

"So, how you been?" Marluxia asked, watching me.

"Pretty shit, as expected." I handed over the joint as I exhaled. "You?"

"Bored. Things are more interesting with you around."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

He shrugged, taking another puff. "Your idiocy entertains me."

I laughed without mirth. "At least we have the same reason for hanging out together."

"Rude."

This is how we always were. It was bizarre, in the easiest definition. We acted like what others perceived as "best friends". But we were far from that. Who even knows? Maybe we both hated each other. Maybe Marluxia secretly actually cared for me. Who knows?

I closed my eyes and let the smoke in my lungs and the surrounding air seep into my system, feeling myself slowly relax and care less. Marluxia's eyes burned into my skin as I felt him stare at my face.

"Something on my face?" I asked without opening my eyes.

He chuckled. "Nope. You just have a good expression."

"The fuck?"

"Can I sketch you?"

Right, I forgot he drew. I thought he was all about planting pot. I shrugged.

"Knock yourself out."

I felt the bed shift as he rustled around with something before settling back down and flipping through what I assumed was his sketchbook. The scratch of pencil on paper told me he had begun.

This wasn't the first time he'd asked to sketch me. I figured it was just kind of an artist thing to do. Photographers always took pictures, writers always jotted down notes, and artists always drew. Or at least I figured.

"Your jaw is fucking fantastic," Marluxia murmured as he drew.

"Uh, thanks? The hell kinda compliment is that?"

"The best. You've got the kind of face that's fun to draw."

"Well, thanks, I guess."

I lay there for a while, subconsciously taking a hit every now and then, until Marluxia finally said he was finished. I turned and looked at him.

"Can I see?"

He nodded and handed the sketchbook over. It was surprisingly detailed and life-like. That art school he went to really did seem to pay off.

"It's good," I mumbled. "It always is though."

I gave it back to the very pleased-looking artist. "It's only good because you have a nice face."

"Again with that. Just shut up already."

"Whatever." He shrugged. "Dunno about you, but I'm starved. Wanna eat?"

"Damn right."

He left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

* * *

I awoke to the buzzing noise of television static. Opening my bleary, sleep-filled eyes, I tried to focus on where the sound was coming from. After a few seconds, I was able to recognize Demyx sitting with his face up against the T.V., stuffing his face full of chips. Real classy.

I pushed myself up and gave the back of his head an unamused look. "Dem."

He looked back at me and grinned. "Hey, you're up."

"Thanks to you," I sighed.

"Hey, so, interesting news," Demyx announced, ignoring my complaints. "I noticed when we were walking inside here that there was some flamehead staring at you. You talked to him, yeah?"

I stared at him, trying to determine how I felt about that. On the one hand, why the hell was he staring at me? The creep. On the other…

"What about him?"

"I went downstairs and asked around. Apparently he's got quite the reputation."

I frowned a bit. "Okay. So why do I care?"

" _Because_ I found out that an old high school friend of mine that goes to school here is an acquaintance of his. And this friend just so happens to know where he is right now. Thought you might be curious."

"That's a lot more than casual curiosity, Dem. Why the hell are you _stalking_ him?"

"So you don't think he's cute?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "I'm straight."

"And I'm a fairy princess."

 _We've been through this a thousand times…_ I thought.

Demyx had been insisting I was gay, or at least bicurious, since middle school. No matter how much I insisted I wasn't, he always just called me "closeted" and too scared to be myself. Not that I'd really be so opposed to it if I really was, but…I'd genuinely never felt attracted toward the same sex. Or either sex for that matter. Really I kinda found myself to be more asexual than anything else.

"Well, I'm not attracted to him," I started. "But I wouldn't mind learning more about him I suppose."

Demyx grinned. "So you wanna see him?"

"I mean…I wouldn't hate it."

And so Demyx sent me off to find some "Zexy" who lived down the street or whatever. I honestly had no idea where I was going, and just stumbled along through the sunset-lit streets, taking everything in but at the same time remaining blind to everything that was happening around me.


End file.
